Human touch better for us, despite taboos
The woman seated behind me at church coughed and blew her nose several times. The kiss of peace was fast approaching. This is the time in the Catholic Mass when people turn to one another, shake hands and say, “Peace be with you.”
I was not feeling peaceful. I was plotting strategy against germ warfare. How could I avoid shaking the woman’s hand? Why hadn’t I kept my winter gloves on?
The moment of decision arrived. I shook the woman’s hand and hoped for the best.
In the days since that Sunday encounter, I’ve been observing touch patterns among people. No-touch behavior escalates this time of year as the fear of catching colds kicks in.
We have learned our hygiene lessons well. Germs are spread hand-to-hand. So when in doubt, don’t reach out.
Many year-round touch taboos exist, too. Bosses, male and female, learn in sexual harassment prevention training that the best touch for employees is no touch at all. School and church volunteers are taught the proper ways to touch children in their care, which translates to very little touch at all.
The rules are sound ones, based on past abuses in workplaces, schools and churches.
Still, “in the absence of touching and being touched, people of all ages can sicken and grow touch-starved,” writes Diane Ackerman in her book “A Natural History of the Senses.”
So we’re substituting the touching of things for the touching of people.
Next time you walk or drive down a busy street, look at what people carry in their hands. Some carry coffee drinks. Some hold cell phones to their ears. Many clutch water bottles. I used to theorize that we carry water bottles as an adult substitute for the comforting bottles of milk we gave up in toddlerhood.
I’m rethinking my theory. Maybe we carry the bottles around for the tactile sensation. When people finish drinking the water in the bottles, they sometimes tear the labels off and play with them, an added tactile bonus.
In meetings, people touch the keypads of their hand-held computers, doodle on yellow pads, fashion accordions out of white notepads. When I confessed once that I liked the buzzing sensation my cell phone makes when it’s on vibrate-ring, others ‘fessed up, too.
Still, human touch is better for us. And when touching is sanctioned, we go for it.
Pat Shelledy, 80-year-old father to my high school friends Dave and Patty Shelledy, was buried Monday in Spokane. The sad event turned out to have a joyous flip side, because it evolved into a reunion of high school buddies. More than a dozen of us attended the funeral Mass together, followed by a luncheon celebration.
The kiss of peace during the funeral Mass continued for several minutes, as people hugged and kissed, coughs be damned.
At the luncheon, the older ones among us, the ones who knew us as children, clutched our shoulders, then stood back and studied our features. They told us how much we now look like our parents once did.
They smoothed our cheeks lightly with their hands, the way we do now to the children in our own lives.
“Hands,” Ackerman says, “are the messengers of emotion.”
The luncheon ended. People walked back to their cars, arm-in-arm, back to work where you can’t touch co-workers anymore, back to schools where you can’t touch children anymore, back to cars where empty water bottles and coffee containers awaited proper disposal.
During World War II, Pat Shelledy’s ship, the USS Bismarck Sea, was fired upon in waters off Iwo Jima. The ship sank. Shelledy was a good swimmer who gave his life preserver to a shipmate struggling in the water. Both survived.
Monday, I understood how life-preserving touch can be. The safeguards we have in place against improper touch are needed and wise. But beyond those, I’m taking my gloves off more often this winter. Peace be with you, cold and all.